


Another Blue Rose

by BardofHeartDive



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Bad Poetry, F/M, First Crush, Krogan Poetry, M/M, Poetry, Rare Pairings, Slow Build, sharks!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6295261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardofHeartDive/pseuds/BardofHeartDive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt: "Grunt seems to have something of a crush on Liara if you talk to him during the Citadel party while he's in the shower. It's cute! They're also the only two who are likely to live the longest after all the other crew members age and die. After 300 years, they're the only two left who remember what it was like to fight with Shepard and the rest, they bond over this shared past, and from this tenuous connection something more could grow."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year: 2185

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nanrea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanrea/gifts).



> This was not the couple I planned to write for this assignment but after investigating the prompt I knew I had to.

“Although most people imagine sharks as large and dangerous, hundreds of species exist in a wide array of sizes and temperaments. Earth alone has many native species both small and docile enough to be kept in home aquariums.”

Grunt nearly fell out of his chair.

He reread the page to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood, then took off at a run to find Shepard. He was so excited that he charged into the elevator without thinking that there was probably a reason that the doors were already open when he got there. He immediately crashed into Shepard, sending both the man and the asari behind him crashing to the floor.

“Grunt . . . ”

“Shepard! Guess what I found!”

“Grunt, I would love to hear about it,” Shepard’s voice came through gritted teeth. “But first . . .  Could you please get off me?”

Grunt pulled himself to his feet, shifting his weight impatiently. Shepard stood but instead of giving him his attention, he turned to help the woman still splayed on the floor. Grunt huffed an exasperated sigh, then started anyway.

“Sharks, Shepard! I found - ” 

All thoughts of sharks disappeared when the asari came to fully standing and he got a good look at her face. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue he’d ever seen, though her skin was a close second. Her features were softer than Samara’s and there were indigo freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and her nose. 

She looked like an angel and he wanted to tell her so but when he opened his mouth what came out was: “You’re really blue.”

“Grunt!” Shepard looked at her apologetically but the asari’s lips curled into a radiant smile and she extended her hand.

“Thank you, Grunt?” she said. “I’m Liara.”

“I . . . ”

He stared at her hand, not sure he was actually allowed to touch it. It was so pretty, so delicate, that he wasn’t certain it was a good idea for him to get anywhere near it. But he couldn’t just leave her standing there holding out her hand for nothing.

As was often the case, he followed the example of his battlemaster, throwing an “I should go” over his shoulder before speeding back to the cargo area.

He sat back down at his terminal, trying to remember why sharks had seemed so important a moment ago. Maybe Liara would like a shark. He could get her a shark. A few of the ones on the pet site had been within his price range. Maybe she would like one of the ones with brown spots. It was kind of like they had freckles too.

He sneered at himself.

That was no way for a krogan to earn his mate. The Warlord Dronek had brought the heads of several vicious predators to Shiagur to earn the privilege of mating with her. In some cases he had driven the entire species to extinction to provide the gift. 

He could kill a shark for her. But not a little one like the ones on the pet site. A big one. The biggest, meanest shark he could find.

But then again, Shiagur had been a krogan and Liara was decidedly not. 

So how did a krogan win an asari as his mate? 

He’d only seen it once, and recently, on Illium. There had been a krogan spewing poetry in front of the shops, trying to convince an asari merchant to take him back. He had considered offering him an honorable death instead of a snivelling existence devoid of glory and battles and blood but then Shepard started talking to the asari and the next thing he knew the couple was all but embracing eternity on the boardwalk.

Maybe Liara would like a poem.

He opened a file and stared at the blank page.

He typed “The,” then deleted it.

He considered smashing the console to bits with his head.

How in the world did you write a poem?

What had the other krogan written? Something about a rose, a blue rose . . .

He started a search on his omni-tool: “rose,” “blue,” “poem,” and watched as results began trickling in.

\- - -

_Krogan are red_   
_Asari are blue_   
_Even in bloodrage  
I still like you_


	2. Year: 2186

Although he would never admit it to anyone, Grunt was a little glad Shepard had broken up the posturing between him and Wrex. With Zaeed and the Prothean goading them a few blows were absolutely required, but a true fight with the Battlemaster was genuinely intimidating. Headbutting the older krogan had left his head ringing. Being on the receiving end had actually staggered him. For all this outward bravado, Grunt wasn’t sure he could have beaten him.

Of course, a fight like that would surely have gotten Liara’s attention. He knew that Shepard had invited her. Garrus said he’d talked to her earlier but Grunt hadn’t seen her. Since he now had a reasonable excuse not to start a fight with Wrex - neither of them was interested in crossing Shepard - he decided to find his favorite asari.

He was briefly distracted from his search in the kitchen. Shepard kept a wide array of hot sauces as well as interesting things to dip them in. The deli meat was pretty good but the washcloth was his favorite because it held the most sauce.

The rest of the guests dissipated into the house, mostly to the bar and upper floor, so he was the only one who saw a flustered Liara return to the apartment with two grocery bags.

“By the Goddess!” she seethed. “You’d think a building as nice as this would have a decent doorman. Five minutes to run to the store and three times that to get back in.”

Grunt had discovered during his research that carrying things for your intended was a common mating ritual for many species. He hurried forward to take the bags out of her hands and set them on the island in the kitchen.

“Thank you, Grunt,” she said, following him.

“No problem.”

She began digging through the bags. Most of the groceries were for the party, snack foods and various types of alcohol. She set each item on the countertop until she came to a glass jar with a label in a language he didn’t recognize. She opened it and drew in a deep breath with her nose just above top. Her eyes rolled back and her eyelids fluttered. She pulled out what looked like a small strip of light green paper shriveled up around itself and popped it into her mouth, with a satisfied hum.

Grunt made a conscious effort to close his mouth.

“It’s called riyora,” she said, when she saw him looking. “It’s drell.” She looked at the jar in her hands, rubbing her thumb against the lettering. “Feron introduced me to it but I think I like it better than he does.”

There was something on her face that he didn’t like. It made him feel . . . he didn’t exactly know how to describe how it made him feel. Part angry and part sad. It was like when Dagg got his hands on both a smart choke and a shredder mod, only a thousand times worse. He needed to change the subject.

“You sounded mad when you came in.”

“It’s nothing. There’s just this mob outside. They heard the music and tried to follow me in.” She took another piece of riyora out of the jar. “You’d think they’d never heard the word ‘no’ before. What I wouldn’t give to have someone teach it to them!”

“Oh. Well . . . I - ”

“Where’s Liara? Liara!” Kaidan yelled from the second floor. 

Both Grunt and Liara stepped far enough into the living room to see the Major hanging over the railing while Vega kept him from pitching himself over the side. 

“Yes, Kaidan?”

“Liara! Come up here! You have to hear what Vega just said about biotics!”

“I should probably get up there before James loses his grip,” she said apologetically. “It was nice talking to you. Try the riyora if you like.”

“Yeah,” Grunt agreed. “Of course. Go ahead. I’ll just . . . um . . . ”

“Liara!”

“Coming!” she answered and all but ran up the stairs.

Grunt waited until she was completely out of sight before turning his attention to the jar. Cautiously he reached in with two fingers and pulled out a single piece. He sniffed it before taking bite. The taste wasn’t bad, kind of smoky and sour, but as soon as it was in his mouth it expanded from a brittle, dry sheet into a mushy, pulpy sponge. He threw the rest of the piece into the trash and closed the jar.

If she was hungry, he would have given her a washcloth.

\- - -

_L is for Lethal_  
_I is for Information Broker_  
_A is for Attacks with biotics_  
_R is for Really strong biotics  
~~~~A is for ~~Ark~~   ~~Archee~~   ~~Archaeololo~~  Also digs up dinosaur bones_


	3. Year: 2194

Grunt fidgeted with his collar, tugging it one way, then the other, then adjusted the tie. Whoever had decided that human formal events should include wearing a noose should be beaten. Then shot. Then thrown to a thresher maw. Even if it was made of asari silk.

Quite the hubbub had been made about the clothes, as well as everything from the guests to the food to the flowers. Some woman named Emily Wong had called the Shepard-Alenko wedding the “most fashionable event in recorded history,” which was truer than she intended since many historical records had been lost during the war. Vega had started to point that out until Cortez elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“Alright,” said the head photographer, a salarian with three camera-bots in addition to his two assistants. “That’s it for just the happy couple! We’ll move on to the entire wedding party.”

Grunt forced himself to leave his clothes alone and dutifully took his assigned place. As the ringbearer, a joke that the humans found hilarious and the other species didn’t get, he was supposed to be in the front. However, when the photographer had realized that even when Grunt was sitting he was nearly as tall as Traynor, he had been moved to the very back row, which was comprised of only Wrex and himself.

“Good, very good!” The salarian made a few adjustments to his bots, then turned his attention to his subjects. “Ms. Goto, turn your head just a little, please? A little more. Perfect, hold there. Now, Mr. Moreau if you would please remove your cap, I think . . . ” He looked up, his enormous eyes even larger than usual. “Where is the flower girl?”

“She was just - ” Tali hiccuped “ - here.”

Shepard pinged her but didn’t get an answer. He even tried Glyph, who only answered that he had “no available data regarding the whereabouts of Dr. T’soni.” By that time the salarian was practically having a conniption, because the delay was putting them behind schedule and if they didn’t resume shortly he wouldn’t be able to get all the necessary pictures before they were expected at the reception. The schedule was tight because of all the media broadcasting.

“Why not just send someone to find her and start the other shots while they’re looking?” Miranda finally asked. “At least then we could move things along.”

“Impossible. The only person not required for the remaining shots is . . . ” The salarian’s eyes, now nearly bulging out of his face, rested on Grunt. “Of course! Mr. Grunt, would be so kind as to find Dr. T’Soni, I will continue with the . . . adults.”

Grunt couldn’t have liked the idea better. He’d enjoyed the ringbearer/flowergirl pictures but only because he was standing next to Liara. In one of them the photographer had posed him kissing her cheek. He’d been hesitant at first but then she had leaned her cheek toward him and it was all he could do not to cover every inch of her with kisses.

The facility was huge - a necessity since it seemed that half the galaxy had been invited - but the most of the space was taken up by the wedding hall itself. This meant that there were actually very few places where Grunt had to look. The lobby and public restrooms were empty, leaving just the bride’s and groom’s dressing rooms. Kaidan and Shepard had elected to share the bride’s before the ceremony, leaving the groom’s unused, so Grunt started there.

Before he even reached the door he could hear crying on the other side. He stopped, not wanting to intrude, until he realized that as long as he was outside she was inside crying alone. He knocked gently then opened the door a crack.

“Liara?”

He heard her clear her voice so it didn’t crack when she answered: “In here.”

She was sitting on the floor in front of a large, antique style couch. The whites of her eyes were bloodshot. The black liner around her eyes had smudged into dark rings.

“Hello, Grunt.”

“They’re ready for the group pictures,” he said, lamely.

“Of course,” she agreed. She stood and made her way to the mirror, her gray dress swishing with every step. “I’ll just, um, clean up.”

She took a tissue from the box on the table and tried to fix her make-up. Her eyes were still tearing, though, and whatever she did was quickly undone. Grunt had never been particularly good at social interactions but he couldn’t stand just watching her cry. He laid his hand on her back. He thought it would be awkward but she instantly turned in toward him, sobbing into his chest. After a stunned moment, he wrapped his arms around her.

He tried not to notice how warm she was and that she smelled nice, sort of sweet and spicy at the same time. And she was soft. The curve of her crest was pressed against his cheek and it was the softest thing he had ever felt in his life.

“I’m sorry,” she said after she was done crying. “After all they’ve been through . . . I shouldn’t be jealous. But . . . they look so happy and Feron is . . . I don’t even have a body to bury. He’s just - just gone.” 

Unsure of what to say, Grunt simply gave her a gentle squeeze and said nothing.

“Thank you, Grunt,” she said. “For just listening. Go ahead. I’ll be right out.”

He shook his head. “That’s okay. I’ll wait for you.”

\- - -  
****

_Asari are soft_  
_They’re also kind of squishy  
But you’re mostly soft_


	4. Year: 2328

Grunt was practically giddy. The day was going better than he’d hoped.

He had not been particularly interested when he heard that the Alliance was retiring the Normandy. Space travel had been his least favorite part of travelling with Shepard. Even when the ship was engaged in combat, there was nothing he could do for the fight and all he got to do was sit and wait. Or stand and wait. Or pace and wait.

He was even less interested to hear that it was going to be permanently docked at its usual docking bay, D24, and turned into a museum for the Reaper War. From that day on, children of all species would be able to read the names on the memorial wall, tour the war room where so many galaxy-changing decisions had been made, then visit the gift shop in the loft and buy their own model ship kit or pick a fish to take home from Shepard’s own fish tank. If he thought about it too hard it made him angry so he did his best not to think about it too hard.

What did interest him was that all the surviving members of Shepard’s teams were being invited to speak at the ribbon-cutting ceremony. He hadn’t intended to keep count of who was still alive but there were only four besides himself now: Shepard himself, Miranda, Wrex, and most importantly Liara. After they destroyed the unfortunate ribbon that stood between them and their goal, he would finally do it.

He would ask Liara to lunch. And he knew just where they would go.

There was a moment of panic when Liara suggested they all go somewhere together. He agreed to go anyway, of course, but he was disappointed that everyone else would be joining them. Fortunately, Miranda had plans to meet Oriana and Wrex was busy with an armada of young krogan. He felt a flash of sadness when Shepard declined by saying that he wasn’t feeling up to it. It was hard to see his battlemaster reduced to a frail, wrinkled man sitting in a floating chair with a blanket over his lap.

The good thing about it, though, was that it left him and Liara as the only two going to lunch. And now they were sitting in a small private room in the back of The Desert Rose.

“I take it you’ve been here before?” Liara asked, after they ordered.

“What gave you that idea?”

“Well, you walked right back to the table, past three employees and no one batted an eye. The server asked if you wanted your usual. And everyone is very curious to know why you haven’t introduced me here before.”

“Heh. Sorry about that,” he said, though he wasn’t sure how much he mean it. “I come here whenever I’m on the Citadel.” 

“What could possibly bring you here that often?”

He shrugged. “I sometimes help Ambassador Tirak when he gets backed into a corner.”

“How in the world did Wrex convince you to go that?”

“He said, ‘What greater battle could there be than with the politicians?’”

“He has a point,” Liara laughed.

“And I never could turn down a challenge.”

“Your appetizer, most honorable patron. This one is please to present it to you free of charge for your regular patronage.”

The hanar server placed a bowl on the table, then floated away. It was filled with bright green squares, each about five centimeters square and two centimeters thick. They had a waxy texture on the surfaces but the inside was soft and juicy.

“What is it?” Liara asked.

“Just try it,” Grunt answered, grinning.

Liara took one between her fingers and took a small bite.

“Riyora,” she said, surprised. “How did you . . .”

“ _ Fresh _ riyora,” he said, passing over her question. “Not like that dried stuff people try to pass of as riyora. It’s hard to find off Rakhana so they don’t have it on the menu but sometimes I can talk them into making it for me.”

“I’m sure you can be quite convincing,” she said, giving him an appraising look. For some reason it sent a rush of warmth up his neck. His entire face flushed when she added, coyly, “I’ve never had fresh riyora before.”

“I’m glad . . . ” There were so many things he was glad about he didn’t have any idea where to start. “I’m just happy to be here. With you.” A faint purple blush crossed her cheeks, giving him the courage to add, “I’d like to do it again.”

“I’d like that, too.”

And then she was leaning across the table, to press her lips against his. The kiss was brief, timid even, but it held the promise of more to come. And centuries later, when she was away on a dig or he had business on Tuchanka, that was the kiss he dreamed about.

\- - -

 _There was an asari, Liara_  
_Who knew everything, near-a and far-a_  
_She had skill with a gun_  
_And biotics for fun  
She’s my muse-a, my queen-a, my star-a_


	5. Year: 3010

There were a number of reasons why Grunt could be hallucinating.

First, he probably had what a human would call a concussion. Although a common condition in the softer species, they were almost unheard of in krogan. Given their neural fluid and plates, causing any type of brain injury was difficult but the fuzzy, grogginess he was feeling now led him to believe he'd managed it.

The rest of his injuries didn’t help either. His right eye was swollen shut and there was blood dried in and around the other. Now that the initial adrenaline rush had worn off his entire body was starting to ache with sharper throbs where more serious damage had been inflicted. His flank and the side of his hump were the most prominent after his head.

There was also the ryncol that he drank the night before. He had stopped keeping track after they opened the second crate but there had been two dozen then and there were none now. Bottles were strewn around everywhere, all of them empty. There was one with a few drops in the bottom under his hand and table under his cheek was sticky, as though he had fallen asleep with the bottle in his mouth.

Of course the most substantial proof that he was hallucinating was the absurdity of what he was seeing, through his concussed, hung-over, injured eyes. It was a goddess. A beautiful, blue goddess standing in front of him. And that made no sense given that he was on Tuchanka in rubble of what had been the great hall of Clan Urdnot before the party celebrating his new position as leader of the clan.

He admired the figment of his imagination for another minute before laying his head back down on the table. It smelled like ryncol but there was another scent mixed in. Something else that most certainly did not belong. Something spicy but sweet.

He looked up again, fixing his left eye on her. “Liara?”

“Hello,” she said with a gentle smile. He still wasn’t completely convinced though, until she kissed the less injured of his cheeks. The only kisses better than imaginary-Liara’s kisses were real-Liara’s kisses.

“You’re supposed to be on the Near Rim.”

“Nearrum,” she corrected. He didn’t realize there was a wet washcloth in her hand until she started dabbing it against his face. “I decided to take some time off. It seemed appropriate, given the circumstances.”

“So you heard.”

“Apparently when the father of the modern krogan race dies it makes news.”

“He didn’t just die,” Grunt corrected, his voice as flat and gravelly as ever. “I killed him.”

She didn’t say anything but her smile turned tragic.

“It was a great fight,” he continued, “And I hope it was a good death.”

“I’m sure it was,” she answered. “I’m sorry I missed the . . . ceremony?”

“That’s probably for the best. It always ends the same when a bunch of krogan get together.” He smashed his head against the table for demonstration. It practically crumbled from the impact. “You’d have ended up squished to the floor.”

“Sort of like the first time we met.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

She kissed him again, this time turning him on the bench so she could settle into his lap. She stayed there even when their lips were still, with her arms around his neck and her head against his chest.

“I’m glad you came,” he admitted, a quiet whisper into her crest.

“I can’t imagine being anywhere else.” She snuggled deeper into his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said.

Then he lifted her off his lap and set her down on the bench next to him. It hurt getting down on one knee but the expression on her face relieved any complaint his body could make. She managed to keep the tears back until she saw the ring, a wide white gold band with diamonds along the edges and a pale blue, princess-cut sapphire in the center.

As he slipped it on her finger he said, “I found this blue rock for you, Liara.”

_\- - -_

_We are the long-lived races_  
_The fortunate, they say_  
_With ever-ageless faces_  
_While others’ wither gray_  
_Because we keep our graces_  
_While their own fade away_

 _Yet we know pain and sorrow_  
_That they will never learn_  
_As all of those we love and know_  
_Are lost as decades turn_  
_Because we see tomorrow_  
_While their funeral pyres burn_

 _But my hundred cent’ries could be new_  
_If only they were spent with you_

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the incredibly talented bagog for checking Grunt's incredibly bad poetry and buhnebeest, whose beta skills prevented a rather jarring ending.


End file.
